


hot cocoa and soup

by hailingstars



Series: simply having a wonderful christmas time [7]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Blizzards & Snowstorms, Car Accidents, Driving Lessons, Gen, Peter Parker Can't Thermoregulate, Peter Parker Whump, Stranded, Uncle Happy Hogan, but really more like step dad Happy Hogan, have yourself a hailing and frosty christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:20:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28196817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hailingstars/pseuds/hailingstars
Summary: “Call Mr. Stark,” says Peter, unable to keep the discomfort from his voice and unable to even think about using his own phone.“You can’t possibly be that cold already,” says Happy. His voice is filled with more worry than annoyance, and it only causes Peter’s anxiety to spike.“Mm a spider. Can’t thermoregulate.”Happy clicks a button on his phone and presses it against his ear. “Sometimes I think your spider DNA does more harm than good.”ORPeter and Happy try to drive to the lake house during a blizzard in a car that has seen better days. Yes, it's a disaster.
Relationships: Happy Hogan & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: simply having a wonderful christmas time [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2041610
Comments: 28
Kudos: 341





	hot cocoa and soup

The clouds over New York City are dark, heavy with the snow that the weather channel promised but Peter never really believed would happen. It’s a snowstorm of a lifetime, a blizzard that will blanket the state and lock people in their homes, and it had been too good to be true, something so magical Peter didn’t want to believe would happen until he was sure it would. 

And now that he is sure, he’s psyched to be spending the blizzard in the best place he could think, Mr. Stark’s lake house in the country. 

His bags are packed for the holiday away from the city, waiting by the door, and he’s ready to go, with Betsy’s keys in his hands, when May breaks the bad news. 

“But Mayyyy, no,” whines Peter. “I can’t drive down to the lake house with Happy.” 

“Oh, he’s not that bad.”

“He is, he’s _worse_ than bad,” says Peter, and in his opinion, he isn’t exaggerating. He’s never met a more paranoid backseat driver than Happy Hogan. “Every five seconds he yells at me to drive normally. What’s that even mean? What’s normal? Ten miles under the speed limit? Twenty?”

May laughs, and shakes her head as if his complaints are ridiculous, before turning her back on him to rifle through her work bag. She adds a few file folders to the organized file system she seems to carry around everywhere with her. 

“Can’t you just ditch work? And come with us to the lake house today? Like planned?” 

“You know I want to, Pete,” says May, finally zipping her work bag. “But we’re swamped at FEAST and I want to personally see to a few things before the holiday, then I’m all yours.” 

“Or you’ll be stuck in the city, buried in the snow.” He’s sad, but not wholly disappointed. It’s just like his aunt to make sure others can have a happy holiday with her charity before settling in on having her own. 

“Not my first winter driving, kiddo, or Pepper’s,” says May. “It is _your_ first winter,” she gives him a kiss on the cheek, “so be easy on Happy, okay?” 

Peter mumbles that he’ll be nice if Happy promises not to be such a nag. It’s only for her sake, though, and Peter isn’t sure how long he’s going to be able to keep up the act. As soon as he’s behind the wheel and in the car with Happy, the man grips the armrest until his veins pop out of his hand. 

And Peter hasn’t even put the key in the ignition. 

“Tony’s right about this car, you know,” he tells him. “It’s a death trap.” 

Peter frowns and puts on his seatbelt. “Betsy can hear you.” 

“Betsy?”

“That’s her name,” says Peter, then adds, after Happy’s blank look, “The car!”

He puts the key in the ignition and turns, only to get a loud, whining noise of protest. 

“See, told you. You’ve offended her.” 

“Maybe we should just take my car,” says Happy, after a few minutes of Peter trying, and failing, to get his car started. 

“No way, man,” says Peter. “This is normal. You just gotta be patient with her.” 

Betsy, eventually, roars to life with another whine, and Peter shoots Happy a smug look, only to see the absolute horror on the man’s face. Peter suspects it’s the prospect of driving all the way to the lake house in a car called Betsy with him behind the wheel, and there’s a little satisfaction in that, but it’s very short lived. 

“Peter, the light’s turning red, slow down.” 

“I see it, Happy,” says Peter, beginning to miss Mr. Stark’s distracted approach when it comes to driving. “Stop being a backseat driver, or I’ll actually make you sit in the backseat.”

He breaks at the stop light, and sure, it’s a little abrupt, but Happy nagging him about it makes Peter consider turning into a lawbreaker and running the red light altogether. 

“You don’t have to stomp on the brake pedal,” says Happy, readjusting after being choked by his seatbelt. 

“I didn’t _stomp._ ”

“Oh really? Cause it felt like a stomp.” 

“Do you wanna drive?” 

“No,” says Happy. “I’ve had enough driving, thank you, what with Tony and his mission to catch them all. Just drive… normally.” 

Peter takes a deep breath, then releases. It’s going to be a long trip. 

Thankfully, Happy chills out a little bit once they’re out of the city, and onto open roads. The snow starts falling, but it’s barely hard enough to justify turning on the wiper blades, which is a positive because Peter isn’t sure how long it’s been since they’ve been replaced. 

The only complaint now is Peter can feel the cold creeping up on him, and he only makes a few more miles until he sighs and decides listening to Happy pester him about his perfectly fine car is worth it. 

“Uh, Happy, do you mind turning on the heat?” 

“You can’t switch on the heat?” 

“Well I can,” says Peter. “But you actually have to press down on the knob to get it come on, and you know, hold it down? So if I did I’d be driving distracted which makes you really freaked out and -”

“-I get it,” says Happy. He struggles with the knob until he finds the right place to press down. He holds his finger there, and a blast of warm air comes from the vents and spreads through the car. “You really need a new -”

“-Don’t say it,” says Peter. “I can fix the heat.” 

“Haven’t yet.”

“Happppyyy.”

“Just saying,” says Happy. He’s bent forward, with his index finger holding the knob. “This can’t be good for my back.” 

*

They’re on the road for thirty minutes before the snow gets so heavy, starts coming down so fast, Peter can barely see the road in front of them. Betsy’s slowed to a Happy approved speed, and Peter’s not even complaining. He wishes he weren’t the one driving.

“Maybe you should take over…”

“Are you kidding?” asks Happy. “You’re doing great.” 

Peter snaps his head to the side to give Happy an incredulous look. The sudden shift in his attitude is disorientating, and it distracts Peter long enough to lose control of Betsy and send them sliding all over the road, until finally Betsy swerves off the side and hits a tree. 

“Well, you were doing great.” 

Betsy groans and sputters and dies, and the smoke coming out from the hood of the car is barely visible through all the snow. The cold hits him first, as Happy puts his back against the seat and the heat stops flowing from the vents. Second comes the dread, the realization that Betsy may be dead forever, and they may be stuck in the middle of nowhere during a blizzard. 

Peter turns and turns the key into the ignition, but there aren’t any signs of life, not even one sound. 

He groans, pushes his head against the headrest, and shivers. He tries not to freak out, tries not to think about the icy feeling spreading first through his toes then through the rest of his body until his teeth start chattering. 

“Call Mr. Stark,” says Peter, unable to keep the discomfort from his voice and unable to even think about using his own phone. 

“You can’t possibly be that cold already,” says Happy. His voice is filled with more worry than annoyance, and it only causes Peter’s anxiety to spike. 

“Mm a spider. Can’t thermoregulate.”

Happy clicks a button on his phone and presses it against his ear. “Sometimes I think your spider DNA does more harm than good.” 

Peter watches the snow pile up on the windshield, and idly wonders if Mr. Stark will even be able to find them, or if they’ll be buried by the time he makes it. He thinks about space, and how it once excited him until he died on a planet light years away from his home and it hits him, as Happy takes the phone away from his ear without talking to Mr. Stark, that the blizzard he was so ecstatic about just hours ago might kill him. 

“He’s not answering,” says Happy. They lock eyes, and he adds, ejecting as much hope in his voice as he can muster, “but it’ll be fine. We’ll break out the emergency blankets, make it cozy in here…” 

Peter stares at him with a blank expression.

“There are no emergency blankets,” says Happy, coming to the conclusion on his own. “You don’t keep survival blankets in your car?”

“N-no, Happy,” says Peter. “Why would I have survival blankets in my car?”

“Someone as accident prone as you are might want to think about it.” 

Peter burrows into his seat, trying to leech warmth from his surroundings anyway he can, while Happy tries calling Mr. Stark again. This time, to both their relief, he answers and vows to be on his way with Rhodey. 

“See?” says Happy. He peels off his suit jacket and tosses it to Peter, accepts it greedily and huddles underneath. “Help’s on the way.” 

“You know,” says Peter. “If you think about it, it’s kind of your fault we crashed.” 

“Oh, really?” asks Happy. “And how’s that?” 

“You caught me off guard with a compliment.”

Happy goes quiet, and for a few seconds, Peter can only hear the snow falling from the sky, landing on the car and the surrounding trees. It’s a beautiful sound, if he wasn’t afraid it might kill him. 

“You’re not a bad driver, Pete,” says Happy. “I’m a bad passenger.” 

“And Betsy’s a good car.”

“Fine. She’s a good _first_ car.”

Peter smiles, happy that his misery can at least accomplish a compliment for his car, though he suspects he won’t be driving her anymore. He feels as though the smile might get frozen onto his face, because although the idea of Mr. Stark and Rhodey showing up soon brings him hope, it doesn’t make him any less cold. 

He tries not to think about it, tries thinking about something to distract him from the thought of his fingers and toes turning to icles and falling off. 

“Happy,” says Peter. “If you were a Jedi, what color would your lightsaber be?” 

“Grey.” The response is immediate, and Peter frowns. 

“It can’t be grey.” 

“Sure it can.” 

“Grey isn’t even a color,” says Peter. “It’s a color without color.” 

“If I’m not allowed to make fun of Betsy, you’re not allowed to knock my style.”

“We have to have a Star Wars night,” says Peter, thinking about some weekend in the future. A cozy stay at home weekend with his family. “So you can educate yourself. And Morgan will need stay over when we watch them, so she can be deprogrammed from Mr. Stark’s obnoxious Star Wars commentary.” 

Happy agrees, and Peter allows himself to zone out. The windshield in front of him is all white now. There’s nothing to see except snow, and yet, because Peter can hear them flying towards the car from a long way off, he isn’t shocked when the snow gets wiped away by a red, metal arm. 

Mr. Stark and Rhodey make quick work of digging Betsy out of the snow, and once the door can be safely opened, Mr. Stark drops a magic, wireless heated blanket on top of him. 

“You didn’t get a blanket on him?” asks Mr. Stark, as he looks at Happy. “He’s a spider - he turns to ice if the temperature drops below fifty.”

“That’s not true,” says Peter, though his voice is talked over.

“He doesn’t have any blankets.” says Happy. “He doesn’t have anything survival related in this piece of junk.”

“Don’t insult Betsy when she’s down, man.”

“He’s a teenager,” says Mr. Stark. “You’re practically his step-father, you’re supposed to put the survival blankets in the car.” 

“I - what -” Happy stammers, and looks close to breaking down, before Mr. Stark interrupts him. 

“Happy, relax, I’m joking,” says Mr. Stark. “Who keeps survival blankets in the car?” 

“I do,” says Happy, getting his steam back. “Along with dozens of other survival necessities, that’s why we should’ve taken my car.” 

“Can you two stop bickering so we can fly Betsy home?” 

Mr. Stark shuts the driver’s side door, and Peter is immediately filled with appreciation for Rhodey, the only adult in his world that seemed to understand the love between a boy and his first car. 

Betsy lifts into the air slowly, and then takes off into the snowy, wintery night. It’s what Betsy deserves for her last ride, a flight to the lakehouse, on what's sure to be a blizzard that makes history. Peter puts his head back, focuses on breathing while the blanket restores feeling to his fingers and toes, and watches thick snow blow around the sky. 

Really, it’s the perfect way to watch the best snowstorm in years. 

*

Peter sits in front of the fireplace, and listens to the fire crackling as it eats the logs. He’s warm, and it’s as if the car accident and being temporarily stranded never happened, but he still isn’t allowed to move away from the warmth of the fireplace, on the orders of both Mr. Stark and Happy. 

Not that he minds, especially when Mr. Stark emerges from the kitchen and hands him a mug of hot chocolate. 

“Hey, Mr. Stark,” says Peter, accepting the mug, and watching as he takes a seat in the armchair. “If you were a Jedi, what color would your lightsaber be?”

“Red.” 

_“If you were a Jedi,”_ Peter stresses. “Red is a Sith color.” 

“Then call me a Sith Lord because I’m not having any other color except red. It’s my brand.” 

Peter rolls his eyes, and takes a sip of the hot cocoa. It goes down hot and soothing, making his spot by the fireplace even more cozy. 

“Maybe you should build me a lightsaber for Christmas,” he suggests. 

“Already told you you’re on the shitlist,” says Mr. Stark. “You’re getting nothing but coal.” 

“Not my fault you almost died eating a sandwich.” 

A throw pillow comes flying at Peter’s head. He ducks in time, but the motion splashes some hot cocoa from his mug and onto the floor. Peter turns and glares at Mr. Stark, who only grins in response. 

“Have I told you how much I’m looking forward to having you here for Christmas?” asks Mr. Stark. 

“Not nearly enough,” says Peter, just as Happy emerges from the kitchen balancing a bowl and a packet of crackers on a tray.

He puts it on the coffee table, looks at Peter, and says, “Here.”

The smell is unmistakable, and it makes Peter completely forget about Mr. Stark previous rudeness. “Is that - did you make me your famous soup? Thanks, Happy.” 

“Don’t mention it,” says Happy. “Seriously, don’t.”

Peter sips his cocoa and eats his soup and savors the night, although it hadn’t started well. He may be on the shitlist, he may have to say goodbye to his beloved Betsy but for now, he’s warm, and that’s enough.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading <3 the Star Wars dialogue with Tony was completely Cleo's idea which is no surprise since she's the Star Wars expert <3 
> 
> comments and/or kudos let me know what you think!! 
> 
> [or come shout at me on tumblr](https://hailing-stars.tumblr.com)


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